


We Will Have Each Other, Always

by Anonymous



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Aromantic Asexual Enjolras, Canon Era, Discussions of Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, July Revolution, Platonic love confessions, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27594466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: In the middle of the July Revolution, Combeferre grapples with his regrets and the nature of his relationship with Enjolras.
Relationships: Combeferre & Enjolras (Les Misérables)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16
Collections: Anonymous





	We Will Have Each Other, Always

The thick mid-summer air is tinged with the smell of gun smoke and blood. A little way off, Joly, Bossuet, and Courfeyrac are laughing with some other men, Jehan and Feuilly doze against one another, and Bahorel instructs some very young workers on how to fire a gun. Combeferre leans against a cool stone wall and slides down to the pavement, more tired than he ever has been before, and watches Enjolras go through his ammunition.

“Say all goes according to plan,” He begins. “Say the people depose the king and form a true republic. What will you do with yourself?”

Enjolras doesn't look up or stop his work. “I don’t know.”

“But surely you’ve thought about it.”

“I’m afraid not.” He is silent for a long moment. Finally, he says, “Even if all goes according to plan, there will still be much work to do. Injustice and suffering will not evaporate at once. I suppose I would finish my studies and make use of myself as a lawyer. Such things wouldn’t be unconscionable in a fair society.”

“But say, just for the sake of it, that you lived in a world where it wasn’t necessary for you to act as a guardian of justice.” There is a hint of irony in Combeferre's voice.

Enjolras smiles good-naturedly, but says, “I’m not sure what answer you’re looking for. I know you have many interests, but what would most doctors, say Joly, do in a world without illness or injury? What would Prouvaire do in a world that had no need for art or poetry? I think it would be rather difficult for them to answer such questions.”

“I suppose you are right.” Combeferre murmurs. He seems to turn in on himself.

Something in the tone of his friend's voice prompts Enjolras to leave his ammunition be for now. He watches Combeferre for a moment and joins him on the pavement. “Why do you ask? I don’t think we’ve ever talked about such things.”

“No, we haven’t,” says Combeferre, more forcefully than he intended. “In all our years of knowing one another, of imagining and discussing what the future might hold for the people of France, I never thought to ask what you saw in store for yourself. Not until now. Not until this moment, which may very well be one of our last.”

Enjolras gives him a searching look. “And you think… this was neglectful in some way? That you have done me wrong in some way?”

“Not quite.” He stares determinedly at his lap.

Enjolras waits some moments for an explanation before sighing. “This will not do, Combeferre. Tell me what is troubling you.”

Combeferre considers complying. His face reddens. His heart pounds with a fear that is only tangentially related to the battalion of national guardsmen on the other side of the barricade. But if he waits a moment longer, he may never get the chance again. “I am afraid,” he says at last. “But that is not quite it. It – it is easy to imagine you will go on living forever if you aren’t faced with the reality of your mortality. It is easy to imagine you have all the time in the world. It is easy to imagine you will get to do everything you want – _someday_. Or maybe that is only my delusion. Courfeyrac never put anything off, did he? Neither did Joly, or Bossuet, or Bahorel… It seems they saw what I could not."

Combeferre pauses, half hoping Enjolras would interrupt him here, but he always seems to know when someone has more to say and remains silent. Having exhausted his small tangent, Combeferre is obliged to continue after taking a shaky breath. “Now, I’m talking about regrets. This may hardly seem related to my earlier line of questioning. But it is. Y-you see, I regret… Well, what will I never get to ask you, or you me? What will we never learn about one another? I regret... that we did not have more time together.” Combeferre can feel his blush spread to his ears, his neck. He begins to speak in a rush. “Don’t m-misunderstand me. I know you are not inclined towards romance. I know you don’t – well, that is, I’m not proposing – er, I mean, I am not especially inclined in that way either –” Enjolras touches his arm and he falls silent at once, suddenly somewhat numb. The moment of quiet stretches into an eternity.

“I don’t misunderstand you,” Enjolras says at last. Combeferre looks up and meets his fiercely sincere gaze.

Combeferre laughs and looks away again. “No, you never do.”

“What’s more, I think our feelings are quite aligned. I may not have imagined my future in any great detail, but Combeferre, since we have become friends, whatever vague notions I may have had, I pictured you there beside me.”

Combeferre removes his glasses, cleans them intently, and wipes his eyes. He then replaces his glasses and presses Enjolras’ hand, heart aching.

“Don’t despair, my friend. Paris is taking a stand against tyranny. We have made good progress today. You may yet survive.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Well, as I said, I had imagined we would share each other’s fates. We will have each other, always.”


End file.
